Disengage the Simulator
by blissfully ignorant
Summary: random little CKY-inspired fic about the Quagmires while they're being held before TEE, just after they were kidnapped. there's theatre troupe members in it. you will enjoy.
1. sink into the underground

~a/n: ah, the Quagmire triplets. I enjoy them quite a bit. This is just a quick little thing that popped into my head when I was make strawberry kiwi jell-o and drinking a cup of coffee at two in the morning. And so here it is. You should no that there is no more logic to the title than the CKY song I was listening to as I wrote it. Now on with the fun!  
  
S i n k i n t o t h e U n d e r g r o u n d  
  
Duncan Quagmire tried to look as fearsome as he could despite the pain in his side and the fear that dragged his heart to the bottom of his stomach. "Where is Isadora?" he snarled.  
  
The hook-handed man in the chair nearby snorted, not looking up from his newspaper. "Oh, she's around here somewhere." He no more than finished his sentence when a high pitched, feminine scream ripped through the air. "Oh look, there she is now." He laughed to himself and turned the page. Watching a man with hooks where his hands should be turning a newspaper page is a rather interesting thing to see, as it involves a clever harmony of both the metal appendages and the one knee, but the man seemed rather practiced in it.  
  
"You--you're going to kill her, aren't you?" Duncan asked, resting his face against the cool metal bars of the cage.  
  
"Well, not me personally, but someone might. Not yet though. We have to keep one of you alive, and we're still trying to decide which one we like more. I'm personally hoping for you--you're at least mildly interesting conversation. All your sister does is sit there and cry."  
  
"Can't say I blame her," Duncan spat. "You all are horrible to her."  
  
"This is true." The man set his newspaper on the floor and pulled a white handkerchief out of his. Catching it in his right hook, he began polishing the left one and whistling a cheerful tune.  
  
Duncan leaned back against the other end of the little cage and closed his eyes, clutching his side. He looked down at the spot where he had been kicked before and in the dim light of the bare bulb he saw a violet bruise spreading. He took a deep, shaking breath and waited for a wave of dizziness to pass.  
  
There was a loud thunk from upstairs and an angry shout. "Flo doesn't sound too pleased. Either that or Tocuna is just having fun scaring the crap out of your sister. God, I used to love tormenting people like that. These hooks were really an advantage in situations like that, but I'm afraid I've rather fallen out of practice. Maybe I can perfect my technique on your sweet little sister."  
  
Duncan turned to him suddenly. "You stay away from my sister."  
  
"Cute little thing though," he continued as though he had not heard him, "sweet, almost. It's rather endearing when she tries to protect you when someone gets pissed at you. Damn, now that I think of it, I wouldn't mind keeping her around for a little bit. She's quite amusing. She's also getting to be quite a pretty little thing."  
  
"You stay away from her or I'll--"  
  
He laughed. "You'll what? Keep in mind, little fellow, you're the one down there with a notebook and a ball point pen as I sit here polishing two highly sharpened stainless steal hooks. And in any event, my intentions toward your sister were nothing less than honorable. I'm quite offended you thought so."  
  
Duncan looked across the dark room and felt his heart sinking. What were they going to do? They had to get out of there, and quickly, but how? The hook-handed man was right--he had nothing more than a pen, a notebook, and a load of unanswered questions. "When is Isadora coming back?"  
  
"Probably whenever Tocuna gets bored with scaring her. Lonely, are you?"  
  
"A bit," he lied. They had to figure out a plan, and he couldn't do it alone.  
  
He laughed again. "Well, I'm only here to make sure you don't get any dangerous ideas like those little friends of yours. Sorry I can't help you out there."  
  
A little squeal came from the stairs nearby and Duncan turned. "Isadora!"  
  
"Hi there," the hook handed man said mildly, waving a hook at her.  
  
One of the pale, powder faced women shoved Isadora into the small cage. "We're moving them out tomorrow. The good Count has a nice little home set up for them on Dark Avenue. You remember that Esme chick? Her place is the next stop on our crusade. She managed to talk that candy ass husband of hers into adopting that other set of orphans."  
  
Duncan's heart simultaneously leapt into his throat and shriveled hopelessly. They would be near the Bauldilares, and if anyone could help them escape it would be Violet, Klaus, and Sunny, but he didn't want to put them in any danger...not to mention that fact that transport was hell--the two triplets would be crammed back into the gutted tuba case, twisted and bruised from hours of riding in the storage compartment of a train or bus, then shoved into another padlocked cage where they would wait until someone decided which of them to kill.  
  
Bleak didn't even begin to describe the cloud on the Quagmire's horizon. 


	2. flesh into gear

~a/n: okay, okay, I had to do it. I had to get something from Isadora's perspective. The temptation was just too much. So now, as I sit here eating the jell-o I made before chapter one, I throw myself at you and beg your pardon for beginning ANOTHER story with no more plot than random strings of events. It doesn't mean I don't love you, and it doesn't mean I don't feel your need for a real, progressive story, it only means that I can't leave this story unfinished. This one takes place at the same time as the first chapter, and like the first it's named only for the CKY song I'm rocking out to out this moment. PS--beware of really, REALLY bad couplets--I did the best I could, my lovelies.  
  
F l e s h i n t o G e a r  
  
Isadora heard the snap of her thin hands against her cheek before she actually felt the pain of the blow. She felt the heat of the blood rushing to her face and subconsciously placed her hand against it.  
  
The pale woman left and Isadora sat back on her heels. She rubbed her sore cheek and winced as her finger touched the purple bruise around her eye. She wondered fleetingly how Duncan was--when she left with the powder-faced woman he had been kicked in the stomach by the long-nosed fellow and coughing a bit of blood.  
  
Isadora was fairly certain that she and her brother would never see the outside world again. For a moment she thought about her old room, the big bedroom that with a divider separating her from Duncan and Quigley's bunk bed. She thought about Prufrock, the room she shared with another girl, and how much she wished they were still there. It was funny the way she used to wish she was anywhere else.....and now the only place she wanted to be was there. She almost missed Nero's miserable violin playing, and Carmelita's rude remarks.  
  
......almost.  
  
She sighed miserably and laid her head against the wall, fighting back tears. The last thing she needed right now was tears clouding her judgment. They needed to get out of here, and she needed to focus on that, not on how miserable she felt at the moment.  
  
"We have to get away, death follows should we stay," she commented with a hollow laugh. "I think I've rather lost my knack for it." Something in the next room thumped loudly and a shriek tore through the air. Suddenly she wondered what it was--was Duncan involved? Her stomach turned over and she took a steadying breath.  
  
As bad as the couplet was, she knew that it was a more than accurate description of the situation at hand. 


	3. The only way out

~a/n: damn, here I am all out of jell-o, playing my CKY CD again, and thinking about the Quagmires. Well, if you've enjoyed the story so far, settle in for some more of the same. If not, then please accept my humblest apology. But hey, at least this chapter title almost makes sense.  
  
T h e O n l y W a y O u t  
  
The two Quagmire orphans huddled together in the little cage at the bottom of the elevator shaft, shivering. They looked awful--their faces streaked with dirt and mud, clothes torn, and brains swollen with a thousand terrible truths that would haunt their dreams for years to come.  
  
Isadora had come to a conclusion: there was no way out of this. Even if the Baudilares could find them down here, how could they get out? Who else in the world could help them? She realized that she and Duncan were here indefinitely, taking notes and discussing what they heard when they were alone only to kill the eternity of time that stretched before them.  
  
Duncan had come to his own conclusion: the only way out was death. And he knew that with a man like Olaf, death could take many shadowy forms. There was brutality--the man was vicious, and Duncan had a feeling he was more than capable of beating them to death. If that didn't kill them, starvation and thirst would set in soon. They were only barely being sustained now--if they weren't needed, he felt the troupe would have no problem simply allowing them to starve down here. And they may be here when winter came-- and it was cold down here already. What would they do when the snow fell? They were probably deep underground, where no one would find them. Their bodies would rot down here until the building was condemmed. He sat for a moment, imagining a wrecking crew finding two identical skeletons in a small cage.  
  
The Quagmire triplets each resolved themselves to their own theories as they heard a loud clunk. Isadora prepared herself for endless hellish minutes, hearing the horror stories, threats, and angry swearing of Olaf and his horrible troupe. Duncan prepared himself to die, waiting for an end. Something clunked again, and they peaked fearfully out of the cage. Who was it now?  
  
Numb shock washed over them as they stared back into the three faces they had never hoped to see again. 


End file.
